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“You didn’t know.” I’d been looking at Marsden, but the comment hadn’t come from him. I glanced at Pritkin and did a double take. Despite the weirdness of seeing his expressions on my face, the truth was pretty hard to miss.
“Ah, Crystal Gazing. Always stirring up trouble of some kind. I take it for the crosswords,” Marsden said as Pritkin and I stared at one another. “Excellent double acrostic.”
I saw when it hit home, when Pritkin realized that he’d done what the article never could have and made me believe it.With a single look he’d shaken my entire foundation. He rearranged his features, but it was too late. Compared to the vampires I knew, he was a lousy liar.
“You told me once that my line was tainted,” I said, my voice sounding oddly wooden, even to me. “But I thought you meant my mother.”
“Yes, your mother. Charming girl,” Marsden said. “You remind me of her.” I stared at him as he calmly spread marmalade on his toast.
“You knew her?”
“Of course. She was always at the Pythian Court, whenever I had reason to visit.”
“And my father?” The word tasted strange in my mouth. “Is it true?”
“Hmm? Oh, yes. We had reason to believe that he was a leading member of the Black Circle for years. Part of their governing council, as it were.”
“We don’t know that!” Pritkin said. “The Black Circle doesn’t publicize its inner workings! The people who spread those stories were criminals hoping for a deal. They’d have said anything—”
“John.” Marsden looked at him severely over his glasses. “You aren’t going to protect her by denying it. It isn’t pleasant, I know, but if she’s strong enough to be Pythia, she’s strong enough to hear the truth.”
I wanted to know and I didn’t. Because some gossip rag’s allegations would be a lot easier to shrug off than anything Marsden had to say. He’d headed the Circle for years, had their intelligence reports at his fingertips. But he was right: I needed to know. And it wasn’t like anyone else had volunteered to tell me.
“What truth?” I asked, pushing away the sickness uncurling in my stomach.
“That your father was a powerful necromancer, capable of commanding ghosts to do his will,” Marsden said matter-of-factly. “It’s said he had a massive army of them, listening, prying, reporting to him about our activities. It’s how the Black Circle always knew when we were planning a raid. His ghostly spies acted as a counterpart to the Pythian Court, giving the dark eyes and ears everywhere.”
He munched toast, giving me a chance to absorb that. It was surprisingly easy. Mircea had told me once that my father had done something similar for Tony, although on a much smaller scale. I should have realized then—anyone with that kind of ability wasn’t likely to be content as Tony’s stooge. Information was power, even in the supernatural world. Maybe especially in our world, where glamouries and illusions so often helped to hide the truth.
Except from ghosts.
There had never been a ward invented that could keep a ghost out, not even that could detect one. Not to mention that Billy could slip inside people’s skin for a little short-term possession whenever the urge struck. He didn’t do it often, because it drained his power too quickly, and even when he did, he couldn’t go sorting through people’s thoughts, cherry-picking memories. But if they happened to think about a subject of interest when he was in residence, he would hear it. He’d done it before and reported back to me. And if someone had a hundred Billy Joes? A thousand?
But something didn’t make sense. “How would they have met?” I demanded. “A dark mage and the Pythia’s heir? It’s crazy!”
“He didn’t announce himself as a former Black Circle member,” Marsden said dryly. “He was in Gallina’s entourage when the vampire called on the Pythia.”
“Tony went to see Agnes? Why?”
Marsden shrugged. “Throughout history, people facing a difficult decision have wanted a glimpse of the future. Norms go to palm readers; members of the supernatural community—those with any pull, at any rate—request an audience with the Pythia. What specifically he asked about we can’t know. The records of the Pythian Court are confidential.”
“You said my father was at court once. How long are we talking about here?”
“A little over a week. Usually, supplicants are sent away if the Pythia doesn’t have an answer for them within a month, but Gallina received his fairly quickly. It was almost the only thing the court would tell us.”
“And in something like eight days, my father persuaded my mother to elope with him?” I didn’t bother to keep the skepticism out of my voice.
“Oh, no, I shouldn’t think so. Your mother was a bright, level-headed young woman. If she had decided to give up her position, she could have chosen an easier, and much less flamboyant, path.”
“Then why didn’t she?”
Marsden shrugged. “We always assumed he put her under some kind of spell. Clairvoyant ability doesn’t make someone proof against other forms of magic, after—” I don’t know what was on my face, but he cut off abruptly.
There was a hard edge to Pritkin’s voice when he spoke. “Could we have a moment, Jonas?”
“You know, I think I have a photograph of your mother around here somewhere,” Marsden said, and hurried off.
I picked up the newspaper and slowly, systematically, ripped it to shreds. But it didn’t help; pieces of sentences still shouted up at me: infamous, dark, unstable, dangerous. I swept them off the table in a sudden burst of anger.
